Now (PDC)
by MetaphoricallySane
Summary: [As deleted off of deviantART] PewdieCry, hardcore slash. It's been two days, and yet... nothing. Something's gotta give. Or rather, someone. When? Now.


**Now. (PDC) **

by ~MetaphoricallySane, 7 hours, 19 minutes ago

Literature / Prose / Fiction / Romance / Erotic / Short Stories

Two fucking days. Or ironically, not. My palms were sweating, my body seeming to burn up at every brush, every erection I never saw the end of. He was doing this again. He had this thing he'd say - something about it being "worth the wait". Yeah, explain that to the messed up fantasies that got lost in my mind when I didn't get any.  
Watching him strut back and forth in his too-tight t-shirts, his hair and face rugged, eyes imploring into mine.  
This was the game he liked to play. He'd tease me, endlessly. Wait for me to make the move. Or wait until he found me desperately jacking off over a pair of his boxers, or an old Pewdiepie shirt, anything I could find of his. Only then would he agree to help me out with my "little problem".  
And sure, I could give in. Take the upper hand. Grab him by the balls and lead him into the bedroom.  
Push him down, get on top of him, grab his waist, hitch him up and-  
"Fuck," I whispered to myself, "I need to get laid..."  
Even though there was no way he could have heard me, the messy blonde looked up from the couch. Spread his legs a little. Draw me like one of your sexy Swedish abstaining bastards. I bit my tongue, turned back to doing nothing on the kitchen counter. I knew he was watching me, could feel his gaze piercing into my behind. If only.  
"Pewds," I spoke up, turning, and instantly his eyebrows shot up. Damn him. My voice trembled a little in sexual frustrastion, as if it were my dick talking, pleading to be touched, licked, played with, abused. But I took a breath. Two can play at this game. "Should we record something tonight?"  
He knew I didn't mean Bloody Trapland this time.  
But the coy little prick just replied, "Depends if you're up for it."  
Fucking hell, I was up for it. If he'd have bothered to got up and look over the counter he would have known just how tight my trousers were feeling already. And that was just because he'd casually brushed his hand on my wrist, what, half an hour ago?  
This was serious shit. If he didn't make a move soon, I would end up finishing just at the sound of him saying my name.  
"Cry..."  
Yep that nearly did it. My body knotted with urgent arousal, cheeks flushing red again and again as the blood pumped violently all over me, breaking a sweat, my mind whirring way ahead of reality.  
Imagining he strode up to me, pushed me onto the counter, did me right there.  
"Hm?" I replied, glancing over again, trying to retain at least the appearance of calm. And failing.  
He had me right where he wanted me. I wished he'd have me properly. As I stared into his narrowed eyes, he slipped them shut, tipped his head back. "Oh... Cry..."  
He panted lavishly, mockingly, but far too convincingly. My own hand slammed down and I squeezed hard, trying to alleviate... something, anything. I only felt myself throb harder, trying not to pant already.  
"Oh... ah- Cry hah-ah-AHH- y-yes!"  
"Fuck you, s-sir," I managed, turned my back, closed my eyes. Fuck it, he had already won, why couldn't he just- FUCK.  
I heard him chuckle across the room. "You make it far too easy, bro," he teased. I heard him recline again. Wanted to jump into his lap, force our erections together, generate so much friction that when he finally came it'd be a freakin' earthquake.  
I took a deep breath.  
All I knew was, that I didn't want to go to bed without having my mind blown that night. Well, replace 'mind'... But how does one sleep without sex?! It was a miracle, really. No, a curse. How was it even possible that we could lie next to each other, and not screw?  
Chirst it made me think back to the times before we got together. The awkward moments when I'd wake up in the middle of the night, see him crashed on the sofa, and think to myself - I wonder...  
"Hey, hey Cry."  
"What?" I hissed.  
"Get over here."  
My heart lurched. Was this it? Finally. Alright, not too eager, not too eager... I sidled over, well, shuffled considering my predicament, glancing down at him.  
"Could you grab me the newspaper?"  
He never reads the newspaper. "Fuck that noise," I muttered, shaking my head in dismay. "I mean, seriously, why are we doing this again?"  
"Doing what?" he answered, but he knew full-well, I could see it in him cocky smile, the way one hand lay over his thigh, the other loosely across his chest.  
But there was no arguing.  
I shook my head, paced away, glancing back over at the bedroom door, wondering if it was time to throw in the towel, or rather, tissue. I was so hard I thought I might explode.  
But instead I went back to the breakfast table, sat down. And just then I heard the couch cushions scuff as he stood up, stretching out, but as I glanced over my eyes just locked on his crotch.  
Eh, what was the point in hiding it now anyway?  
"Ryan..." he murmured, mid-yawn. "I'm bored."  
I couldn't help it; I lit up. Was this it? Or was it another trap?  
"Entertain yourself, then; you don't normally have any problems with that."  
I heard him chuckle, a dark, low laugh, normally into the shell of my ear, reverberating, seconds before the thrust that drove it home, the one that made my body jolt into shock and halted my breathing for a moment.  
He rubbed the back of his neck. Progress. I watched him closely. He bit his lip. It wasn't like him to not think about it. Wasn't like him to restrain himself. I knew his game was as difficult for him as it was for me. I took it as a very, very annoying compliment.  
But the more I watched him, the more I wanted to tear off his clothes, grab his hips, dig my claws into his waist as I pushed into him right where he stood.  
I smiled innocently.  
He returned the gesture.  
I heard the clock tick, once, twice, three times, four.  
"Cry."  
"Pewds."  
Eight. Nine. Ten.  
Eleven. Twelve.  
Thirteen.  
Fourteen.  
The seconds seemed to drag out for ever as he just watched me, both of us wanting to say it, but neither of us wanting to lose the game. I guess that's the thing with gamers. Someone's gotta win. Someone's gotta lose. Although in some cases, losing is winning.  
Twenty. Twenty-one.  
"... Ryan."  
"Felix."  
Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.  
Twenty-seven.  
"Sup?"  
"Not. Much."  
Thirty-one. Thirty-two.  
"How's it going?"  
"Alright."  
Thirty-three.  
"You tired?"  
"Nope."  
Thirty-five.  
He was rubbing his neck again, our gazes perpetually locked, waiting for the breaking point, the point of no return, that one word that would draw us together like gravity centralising on my bed.  
Forty. Forty-one.  
If he wasn't going to say it, I would.  
Forty-two.  
Come on, Pewds. Say it.  
Forty-three.  
Forty-four.  
Forty-five  
Forty-  
"Now."  
In an instant I was up, striding over, grabbing his shoulders, tearing him towards my lips, kissing him frantically, lustfully, desperately, our tongues clashing together with soft moans, feeling myself precumming over and over as our hips hitched together, pushing on each other, trying to find power, trying to get on top, trying to just fuck each other mutually as nails dug in, shirts tugged at in urgency, belts stripped free, tossed aside carelessly, trying to force each other to turn round, to spin the other away, bend them over, finish this in less time than the entire stand-off had taken.  
A two-day wait solved in probaly around a minute.  
He tugged at me, I held my ground, drove my fingers into pressure points on his shoulders, biting at his tongue, heard him moan, felt him chuckle, the masochist, before his hand dove into my pants, grabbed me, hard, and I had to break free and pant quickly, and in that time he had already twisted me round, slammed me down with my face in the armchair, ripped down my trousers and boxers already stained, grabbed my ass tight and my body jerked forward, cold snapping across me in an instant before his hot hand met with my length again, smearing over me, not getting any friction at all up but I panted all the more knowing what that meant: only one way to finish this. I drooled a little, clenched my jaw in panting, and then opened wide again as he was tugging me apart, let out a long groan, mind too jumbled to even manage his name, he shoved a finger inside, applying pressure, I yelped at the rush of sensation from nerves not even all that deep inside of me, before I felt his breath scathe across the back of my neck, his wet lips trailing my skin, sucking, biting, leaving pucker red marks all the way along my neck and slightly down my spine, all the while spreading his fingers, opening me, and then letting me fall again, still tight enough for how he liked me, and I felt his heat press against my entrance, felt the sweat trickle down my chest as my body began to rock already in short spasms.  
I rolled my cheek into the soft leather of the chair, moaning again in wordless plea, almost seeing my breath steam in the vague light, my body aching, begging, screaming to be ravaged, his hands still roaming my abdomen, slick and ruthless as he grabbed my hips, buried his scuffed chin into the nape of my neck, before he pressed, pressed, pressed, and I gasped out over and over, pained by how slow he was going, hearing only our mingled moans, before he began to shift, pushing in, pulling out, rocking over and over, getting himself off inside of me while I was almost finishing outside, practically dripping with arousal, eyes rolling back in my head, clutching the carpet, the chair, his hands, anything, feeling my saliva slip over my lips, wanting to yell at him to go deeper, to get to that spot, to fucking ram me over and over and over till there was nothing left in me to ejaculate, to yell, to feel.  
I felt his chest rise and fall in short gasps against my back as he leaned over me, whispered in my ear, voice strained, husky, tight,  
"Now."  
My body exploded as he struck my prostate, leaving me panting like a dog, sweating and desperate as streams of moans and breathless gulps came from me, lacing out without my control, dipping in my nails into whatever I was holding, I didn't even fucking know, just trying to- to make it last as waves of pleasure crashed over me again and again, hearing him breathing my name, telling me- telling me how fucking tight I was, how fucking good I was, to keep going, to hold on, he wasn't done, not done, fuck, never done- I cried out over and over, unable to catch a break until I was done, and even then he was still pounding me, drawing me up again and again, lulling my mind into unconsciousness that I fought to avoid, trying to warn him, trying to let him know I couldn't- shouldn't-  
Darkness split in another instant. He was pulling out, or rather, slipping out, so lubricated I hardly felt a thing, but didn't dare think of the mess we'd made. Again. But my body - finally - relaxed, and I fell back into his arms, not caring about the slick noises bewteen us, not caring that most of the chair was wet, not caring that the whole house stank of sex; it normally did anyway.  
"Two fucking days..." I murmured breathlessly. "F-for what... a minute, two?"  
He chuckled dryly, the lack of fluids in both our bodies completely understandable. "I need a drink..." he whispered.  
But I refused to move. Mostly because I physically couldn't. Every part of my body longed for a well-earned rest, well, not every part. Somehow it's never done.  
I blame Pewds.


End file.
